Those Darn Fictional Realities
by Group Hugs For Everyone
Summary: When Mark meets a teenage girl on the streets, life changes. Can he save her from her past and move on from his own numbness, or will he fall into her pit of darkness? Mark/OC and all other pairings.
1. Prologue

_A/N: Hiiii! I said in my profile I'd figure this site out. Mwhahaha! * Huggles story* This story is very important, and also finished. I've just begun putting it up here though, and I need you all to tell me how it is. Because, despite them being awesome, many of my friends have yet to learn the wonders of RENT. Anyhoo, I don't own RENT or its many awesome charries. That's all Jonathan Larson and...whoever the hell has it now. Probably a movie company or something. Or Broadway/... Urgh, off track! What I mean to say is, I couldn't possibly own any of this. But, despite that, I own the 'kid' at the end and this storyline that is about...a year after the movie/musical. Mm, have fun kids!_

It was cold. Rain splattered against concrete and asphalt. Blue-Grey eyes look through a blurred lens. It was normal, routine, as rain plastered hair to foreheads and stung cheeks, as small figures huddled in dark corners, Mark Cohen would film. Observing life through scratched, never quite clean, glassed and a barrier of technology. Life was easy that way, no empty words or broken promises to flow from your lips, instead you watch as others, with their fragile paper hearts, break into miserable pieces and slowly reach for the glue. It was quiet and shadows were closing in, stretching menacing fingers and feigning monstrous shapes. He ignore this and focused, rather, on the single, small, wilting dandelion that had the defiance to pop it's bright head out of a crack in the sidewalk.

The window ledge of the tall, recently abandoned building gives relative protection from the onslaught of rain. He idly fiddles with some silver thing sticking out of the camera, he told himself time and again not to, but he never could figure what that thing did. It was cold and getting colder, pale hands turning ashen. Damn. He didn't want to go, to enter the loft with another roll of film wasted. How long had he been shooting a dying weed? Half an hour? Forty-five minutes? It was late, well, technically early, and Mark was starving. He briefly wondered if he _had_ to go, What if he stayed out? Filming in the dark abyss of New York city. Filming as silhouettes stalk in the corridors of the labyrinth known as NY. He'd wander into the bad parts of the city, a voice would sneer behind him, he'd turn to see the glint of a blade. All instincts telling him to run but he's unable, frozen as the shadowed figure lunges, and then- wait! No! He slams his hand to his forehead.

_Damn, damn, damn!_

He promised himself he wouldn't think like that. Those thoughts were sick and wrong, but he couldn't help it, ever since Angel died and Mimi came back he felt utterly alone. Roger doted on Mimi, Collins had a job, Benny was...well, Benny. And there was no way he was going to see Maureen and Joanne. They still scared him. It wasn't that he wanted to die, no. At least, he didn't think so. He just wanted something, _anything_, to happen. And these thoughts were friggin' scary. They weren't just thoughts, they were dreams and nightmares that would leave him in cold sweat. Night terrors.

Crap, his hands were shaking.

He leaned against the rundown building, he wanted them to stop. He did. But they wouldn't. They'd creep up on him, and he'd be left alone with those thoughts and running the images over and over in his head. Goddammit! He doesn't want to die. No dying. None. He closed his eyes, fixing attention on the sounds around him. Dogs barking, crickets searching for a mate, the night bird cooing, traffic, sirens, in the distance. A cat screeched, hissing as something crashed down to the ground not too far from him. What the hell?

His legs are already taking him there, refusing to comply as his mind keeps repeating for them to stop and turn the other way. A moan. _It's probably some bum._ He turned down the alley, he could see a form not too far off. Crumpled on the ground in defeat. As he approaches he can see the shivers racking the small frame, hoarse coughs emit from the form. _Damn, the guy's practically dead._ He doesn't know what compelled him to bend down, doesn't know why he gently turned the crumpled being over, or why he swept the hair away from the pair of violet eyes.

All he knows is thinking; _fuck, it's a kid._

_A/N: Oooh, language. Bad Mark! I'll talk to him about that. But, in other news, what did you think? I was very proud of the prologue simply because I liked Mark thinking depressing thoughs, which is creepy. I think something is wrong with me, but hopefully they have medicine for that. Anyway, I adore you for reading. Now, review? Yeah, see that button right below this? Well, you click it, and a little window pops up and you use that to review. You can say anything really, even if you shout 'SHTINKERMUFFINS!' and say nothing else I'll probably be ecstatic. I am a people pleaser, so I might change something in the story. Who knows? I reamin your obedient Authoress, Lushy_


	2. Playing These Games

_**A/N:**Hey everyone. I'm sorry I didn't get this out before, but I'm not entirely sure whether I'm going to even keep this up. It needs some major re-working, and I've already been inspired for a Psych fic so I'm not sure when I'll get to it. I'll still update (mostly because of **someone** who told me she'd review every chapter and was very sweet to remind me of Fictional Realities) but I might forget time to time, so just tell me and I'll do it. Remember that anything you see is liable to change soon. Thank you very much for reading, y'all are awesome!  
**Disclaimer:**I own none but my own and the plotline, I do not own RENT or its characters. Any publicly recognizable characters or settings is either pure coincidence or someone else's. I repeat: I. Do. Not. Own. Please don't sue me._

* * *

Chapter One

Playing These Games

Krystal shivered against the man supporting her, wondering where she went wrong...or right. No one was supposed to find her, among the trash where she was placed. _God, why is it so cold?_ She coughed again, acid burning in her throat, she forced it back down and hung her head. The rain had let up somewhat and the man beside her had a plaid coat stretched over their heads. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, he looked nice, but appearances tended to be extremely deceiving to her. She was just too weak to put up a fight. He promised her food, warmth, a bed for the night. She didn't dare ask what he wanted in return, and wasn't sure she wanted to know. Nonetheless, she felt she knew what and would give it, leaving as soon as she was rested. That's all. She just wanted to sleep, the streets of New York didn't provide the most comfortable bedding.

A moan escaped her throat as a stinging pain swept through her shoulders, damn those shoulders to hell. She stumbled, felt a arm grasp her around the waist and heard a gasp. She smiled humorously to herself, he probably didn't expect the young teenager he was to bed with was so skinny. The clothes that hung over her small frame easily hide that, hid the protruding bones and thin, pale skin that stretched over them. He helped her stand back up again and gazed at her a moment.

"My name is Mark. Mark Cohen." He offers a hand, leaving Krystal to just stare at it. Funny. Normally they don't introduce themselves to prey. Must be a new way of going about it.

"Krystal," she gives no further information other than it's spelled with a 'K'. She hugs herself, glances up as the rain slowly comes to stop, smiling faintly when the clouds part for her to see a single star. How'd that song go? _Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket. _She used to sing that in her head, when the pain came to be too much. She glances at Mark. _Right, not alone._

"Krystal with a 'K', yeah. Got it." He glanced at the sky, furrowing his brow when he doesn't understand what made her smile so wistfully, then turns his gaze down the street. "The Life Cafe might still be open, we can get you something to eat there if you like."

She shrugs painfully. _Stop moving your shoulders. _"Don't care." Krystal mumbles. Mark stares at her for a minute before replacing his coat and guiding her down the street to the warm, familiar glow of the cafe.

Mark opens the door and ushers the young girl in, ignoring the scowl from the manager who was making his way to the front. He took the brief moment of quiet to examine her. Skinny, he felt her bones, with black hair that was clumped from the rain. He violet eyes, they were the most brilliant color he'd ever seen, but they were lifeless. From how...developed she was, he could tell she had to be, at the very least, seventeen. She looked more like thirteen. She was small, a ratty blue, baggy sweater was over her torso, drooping slightly off her shoulder. She kept pulling it up so quickly though. She wore ripped jeans the cut off at her knee's, and a pair of tattered sneakers with no socks. Damn, that had to be cold.

"We're closin'." The manager made his way through the table and stood in front of Mark, eyes occasionally flitting to Krystal with a gleam he didn't like.

"Sign says 'OPEN'." He pointed out and motioned to the sign at the door. The scowl the man wore deepened, making Mark wonder if it could possibly freeze onto his face in this weather.

"Don't matter no how, we're closin' soon and ya gotta leave." He pointed at the door, but his eyes traveled to Mark's pocket, wondering if he had money this time. _Do I? _

"Well, if you don't want our business..." He turned to Krystal, "I hear there's this new place, a block over that's open all night. Why don't we go there?"

Krystal just stared at him, not really caring about the stupid food. _Sleep, I want sleep._

"Wait! You got money this time?" The manager gripped Mark's arm.

"Yeah, why else would I be here with...my date?" He tried not to wince at the 'date' part. God, if she doesn't like that--

"Very well. _Stephanie_! Show our customers to their table!" The manager quickly interrupted his thoughts, and shortly after a blond girl ushered them to a booth by a window, leaving them with some menus and Mark to search his pockets.

"Damn, I hope I have money." He muttered under his breath, earning an amused glance from Krystal.

"Y'mean that you might not have the means to provide me with sustenance?" Violet eyes darted over the menu, how long had it been since she read? A year? Two?

"Nah, I have it...I think." Mark glanced around and tugged off his jacket to search the pockets. Krystal set down the menu.

"I'm not really hungry." Actually, she wasn't. She never really had an appetite, and after the small portions of food she'd been getting over the months, it had been slowly dissipating. Even a sandwich made her want to puke.

Mark was regarding her with concern. "Are you sure? I mean, you look- I can..." he trailed off and rubbed his eyes under the glasses. "Well, how about some tea? I got enough for that." He waves a couple fives in the air, earning a quirk of her thin lips that isn't quite a smile.

"Sure, whatever you want." Her shoulders suddenly started to shoot with a searing pain, forcing her to tense and sit up as straight as possible. Mark reaches across the table, thinks better of it, and lets his hand fall on his lap.

"Are you o-"

"What can I get you two?" Stephanie came back, pen and pad in hand, and a cheery smile.

"Two teas, please." Mark quickly orders for them and sits back. What the hell is he gonna do with Krystal? He could take her to the loft, and pray that Roger is staying with Mimi tonight. Or he could give her some tea and throw her back on the street. Wait- what?! He promised her a bed! He shook the thought from his head and waited for the tea in an uncomfortable silence.

* * *

Mark kicked open the door to the loft, he had practically carried Krystal up the stairs when she collapsed half-way up. She was so damn weak... She moaned in his arms, slumping against him.

"Come on," he half-carried her through the door and gently leaned her against the wall. "Roger? Ya home?!" Some shuffling comes from the bathroom and a head with long blond hair and green eyes pops out.

"Crap, what'd you do, Mark?" Roger just stared at Krystal, ignoring the scowl that forms on Mark's face.

"Nothing! I found her...in a alley." Mark rubbed the back of his neck and gently tried to help her stand back up. Now she was muttering under her breath and staring around with heavily-lidded eyes.

"Mark! No human strays, we had a deal. Remember? Jack?" Roger comes forward nonetheless and attempts to help, staring in bewilderment as she jerks away from both of them when Roger accidentally touches her shoulder. She falls to the ground and whimpers in pain.

"We also had a deal not to mention Jack." Mark hisses through clenched teeth and he drops to his knees beside Krystal. She's trying to crawl away from them and staring at him with those wide, violet eyes. "Krystal? Krystal! It's me, Mark. You're okay. We're not gonna hurt you."

Roger reaches out to touch her shoulder again, but snatches his hand away as she lets out a cry of pain.

"What'd you do?" Mark barks at him.

"Nothin'! Touched her shoulder, that's all." Roger stares down at Krystal like she's one of the moldy sandwiches he finds on his bed. Disgust, interest, analyzing, and curious.

Mark looks down at Krystal, who's now breathing harshly and occasionally moaning. "Krystal? Is your shoulder hurt?" He hardly expect a coherent answer, but she turns to him and say's one phrase he'll never forget.

"Daddy punished me."

Roger continues to stare at her but leans towards Mark, "Did you pick her up at the loony bin?"

"You shouldn't talk like that while I'm here." Krystal points out and runs her fingers through her now dried hair. "Daddy got upset and punished me, he did that a lot. But then I ran away. That was three months ago. I brought it out in him." The last sentence is barely a whisper, but Mark and Roger hear it and exchange a glance. Brought what out?

"Can I?" Mark motions to her shoulder, and Krystal painstakingly rolls to her stomach and lets them pull the sweater down past her shoulders.

"Jesus Christ..." Roger mutters under his breath as he stares at her shoulders. Raw, red skin with third degree burns stretch down her shoulders, ending at her upper back. Blisters trail down the rest of her back, angry and clearly painful.

"Krystal, how'd this happen?" Mark whispers to her.

"Daddy." Is all the information she provides as her eyes slip shut, she's so...tired. Mark glances at Roger. Roger looks over at Mark.

"I'm not giving up my room."


End file.
